The Bitter Taste of Past

The usual post-work routine at Sparkle Cafe took an unexpected turn. Gone was the easy banter, replaced by a sudden seriousness that hung between us like a storm cloud.

"Why do you kill people in your writing?" Sia asked, her voice calm yet probing. The question blindsided me.

"I... I don't understand," I stammered, caught off guard.

"Your blog," she clarified, leaning forward slightly. "The older posts, they're all filled with death. Why thrillers and mysteries? Why all the darkness?"

I tapped my fingers against the table, unsure how to respond. "It's the genre I enjoy. In those stories, someone has to die."

Sia raised an eyebrow. "Sure, but there are other genres. Why not try something different? Something romantic?"

I stopped tapping. "Romance? That's a bit... mainstream, don't you think?"

"So is killing," she countered, a dry smile tugging at her lips. "Every day, there's another tragedy. I hate it when you kill off your characters."

Her words sank in deeper than I expected, nudging at a part of me I hadn't paid much attention to. A mental note was made right then and there: my next story wouldn't be drenched in death. But what would it be? My mind churned, coming up blank where inspiration should have been.

The silence threatened to become awkward, but the arrival of the waiter saved me. He set down two steaming cups of coffee, and I reached for a sugar sachet, tearing it open and sprinkling it into my cup. As I stirred, Sia watched me closely.

"Just one spoon?" she asked, amusement glinting in her eyes.

"I prefer it bitter," I replied, taking a sip.

She crinkled her nose in mock disgust. "How can you stand that?"

A thought struck me. "Bitterness," I said, with a touch of melodrama, "is the true taste of life."

Sia's playful frown deepened as she snatched another sugar packet and tossed it into my cup. "Two sugars make it sweet," she said with a smile. "And sweet, my writer friend, is what life should be."

I glanced at her, then back at my cup, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Why'd you do that?"

"Because that's how I like mine," she said simply.

I sighed, amused. "Not everyone has the same taste, you know. You haven't even put sugar in yours yet."

With a mischievous grin, Sia grabbed two sugar packets and ripped them open in one swift motion, dumping both into her coffee. "Sorry, not happening," she teased. "This cup is way too sweet for a bitter gourd like you."

"Bitter gourd?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

She laughed, the sound light and infectious. "You like bitter things, remember?"

I blushed slightly, trying to keep the mood light despite the sudden weight of her earlier question. "Maybe... my past was a bit bitter," I muttered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Her laughter faded, replaced by a look of concern. "Rihan, it was just a joke," I added quickly, forcing a smile.

But her expression didn't soften. She wasn't fooled. "What's your past?" she asked, her voice gentle but direct.

I froze. Memories I had worked hard to bury stirred within me, threatening to break free. I clenched my fists under the table, struggling to keep them at bay.

"Rihan?" Her voice was softer now, laced with worry.

I managed a shaky nod. "I'm fine," I muttered, though my throat felt tight. "It's just... the past."

"Three years ago," she pressed, leaning in slightly. "You were so active on your blog. You wrote all the time, and then suddenly... nothing."

My frustration bubbled up, tasting bitter on my tongue. "Why does it matter, Sia? Why do you care so much about my past?"

She didn't flinch. "Because," she said softly, "you're different, Rihan. There's something in you—something deep that you don't let anyone see. And I want to understand it."

"You don't understand," I said, my voice thick with emotion.

"I can try," she urged. "Keeping it all bottled up isn't doing you any favors."

I looked away, staring out the window as the sun dipped low, casting the world in fiery hues. "The shadows of the past cling to you like a second skin," I muttered.

"And what if someone wants to offer you a little light?" Sia asked, her voice unwavering.

I closed my eyes, memories swirling in a tangled mess. "The brightest light casts the darkest shadows," I replied softly, more to myself than to her.

Sia frowned, clearly worried. "Why are you so negative, Rihan?"

I kept my gaze fixed on the fading sunlight. "I made a decision three years ago," I said quietly. "I quit dreaming, Sia. I quit writing."

Silence fell between us, thick and heavy. Sia finally broke it, her voice barely above a whisper. "What happened?"

I sighed, my heart weighed down by the memories. "Life happened," I said, the words bitter.

Sia's eyes dimmed, the spark in them fading. "There was a time," I began, forcing myself to continue, "when I thought my dreams were within reach. I had a way with words, people noticed my stories. They tagged me in their posts, saying I inspired them."

Sia's brow furrowed. "That sounds wonderful. What went wrong?"

I braced myself for the truth. "I couldn't balance everything. Work drained me, left me with nothing for my writing. Eventually, I just... stopped. And the people who once looked up to me? They stopped too. That's why I disappeared."

Sia stared at me, her face a mixture of disbelief and sadness. "You gave up," she whispered.

I nodded, the weight of those words settling over me like a shroud.

Sia was quiet for a long moment, then asked, "If you gave up, why were you working on your laptop when we first met?"

A faint smile tugged at my lips. "Restarting," I admitted. "I was trying to write again."

Her smile returned, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "What sparked this sudden reboot?"

I met her gaze, feeling warmth stir in my chest. "Sometimes," I said softly, "all it takes is a cup of coffee with the right person. You're the reason, Sia."

A blush spread across her cheeks, her usual confidence faltering. She took a deep breath before replying, "Well, I'm glad I could help. But I have one request."

I raised an eyebrow. "A request?"

She stood, her eyes bright again. "Yes. I want a new story from you. But this time, there's one condition."

"And what's that?"

"No killing off the characters," she said, a playful glint in her eye.

I chuckled, the tension between us finally breaking. "Deal."

As she walked away, I watched her go, my heart lighter than it had been in years.